We Rock
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: When Dean is badly hurt on a hunt, Sam realises that sometimes the best cure isn't medical. More H/C Schmoop!


_A/N: So, once again, here we go. H/C schmoop. My muse made me do it. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Thank you to Abni, Merisha and TraSan. Title and lyrics are from a song by Dio. I think it could be a new Winchester theme!_

**We Rock**

_They come for killing  
__they leave  
__and still it seems the cloud that's left behind  
__oh can penetrate your mind  
__But sail on sing a song  
__carry on  
__'cause we rock_

Hospitals smelled the same no matter where they were. Small town, tiny clinic or massive medical center, they all smelled the same, a cross between a bad diner and a dentist's office. Or that was how Sam thought of it. The scent of old grease or coffee and bacon mixed with the antiseptic overtones the same everywhere. There was something else about hospitals. They all smelled like fear. He had no idea how he knew that was what fear smelled like, but it was there, everywhere in every one in every state. Sam had been in enough of them to know.

This had been one of the worst. Dean had been hovering between life and death for three days in ICU, Sam watching the monitors every second, falling asleep in the chair by the bed his hand on Dean's chest so he would know, probably before anyone else, if his brother's heart stopped. At one point the nursing staff had tried to chase him out, but had backed of when he growled, actually growled. The small woman had nearly tripped over herself in an effort to get out of his way.

Sam had sensed the change in his brother before the monitors told him, and the staff, that Dean would make it. When they told him that they would be easing Dean out of the coma, Sam finally left. He went back to the motel and took a long, hot shower and stopped by the restaurant in the lobby and had a huge dinner before heading back to the hospital.

When he arrived Dean was still mostly out, but when Sam put a hand on his forehead, Dean's eyes slowly drifted open. "Hey, man," Sam said softly. "You're still on the vent, so take it easy."

Dean blinked, Sam knew it was a yes, and his eyes slid closed again.

It was another three hours before Dean was aware enough to really grasp what was going on, and five hours before they pulled the vent. As always, Sam held Dean's hand for that last moment. It was one of their rules, and had started years before, the first time Sam had been in ICU and his brother had been there for every moment. He could still remember Dean's tight grasp, his hand trembling as he whispered over and over "just a minute more, Sammy, just a minute more." Since then, it was the rule. They undid one of the restraints and held on tight. Winchester rule number twelve or something. He could never remember Dean's numbering system, especially since it tended to vary depending on the situation.

Typically Dean's first words were, "Are you okay?"

Sam had decided that strangling him in ICU would be a bad idea. He just nodded and said "I only needed a few stitches." Dean frowned, but his eyes closed and he was back asleep before Sam had to explain the actual extent of his own injuries.

Dean was out of ICU the next day, still heavily drugged but at least conscious enough to answer a question or two every now and then. The staff was still worried about infection, fussing over the wounds with a fervor Sam had rarely seen. Of course, he had to admit, not many medical teams outside of bear country had the chance to see, let alone treat, wounds like the ones Dean had received.

Now, a week later, they were ready to release Dean. Reluctantly. Somehow, his brother had convinced them to release him nearly four days sooner than originally planned. Sam didn't really mind, he was tired of the hospital, tired of smelling fear, tired of the terror that closed over his heart every time he remembered finding Dean face down in the mud, his body a torn and bloody mess. Sam's rational brain screamed _No Hope _over and over even as he fought to keep his brother alive long enough to get to an ER.

"Hey," Sam said, opening the door. Dean was sitting up, staring out at the bright sunny day. "You ready to go?"

"Beyond ready, Sammy." Dean turned to him with a smile, then frowned as his eyes focused on the stitches on Sam's neck. They'd already been over it twice, but Dean still frowned.

"I have all the meds and instructions already in the car, so as soon as you get into the wheelchair we can leave."

Dean grumbled as the nurse helped him up and into the chair. "It's a stupid rule."

"They don't want you falling on your face halfway down the hall, it makes them look bad."

"It's still a stupid rule," Dean mumbled.

Ritual number five, Dean complaining about leaving in a wheelchair. Sam smiled. They were going to get through this one.

The Impala was pulled up in the loading zone, Sam watched the smile spread across his brother's face when he saw the car. It was the first sign that things were going to be okay. The nurse helped Dean up and Sam settled him in the passenger seat, covering him with a blanket despite the warm day. Before closing his eyes, Dean shoved a tape in the player, Dio blasted through the speakers.

"One of the defining voices of metal," Dean said, his voice a little slurred by the pain meds. "One of the best. Someday, Sammy, I'm going to see him in concert." His brother snorted. "Yeah, right."

"You never know, Dean." Sam pulled out. "We've managed to see a lot of bands."

"I know, he's on the bucket list, you know? I just..." And with that he was asleep, snoring almost in time with the music.

By the time they reached the motel, Sam could tell the pain medication was starting to wear off, Dean was shifting in the seat, his lips pressed tightly together. Sam eased the car into the stall in front of their room and walked quickly around the car, managing to get to the other side before Dean got out. He helped his brother up, ignoring the groan of pain as his brother leaned against him.

"Can you get the door?" Sam asked.

"Of course." Dean slid the key in the lock and got the door open on the second try. "See?"

"Good job," Sam said, gently helping Dean lay back on the bed. "I'll get a Coke and your meds."

"Thanks." Dean took the pills and closed his eyes. "All I do is sleep."

Complaint number nine. Things were definitely getting back to almost normal.

Once he was sure Dean was asleep, Sam turned on the TV and flipped it to the History Channel and happily settled in for an all day marathon of medieval history complete with bad recreations. He never understood why his brother didn't like these programs, they were as cheesy as the bad monster movies Dean preferred. He was dozing when something on the TV worked its way into his consciousness. He opened his eyes in time to catch the end of an ad. He blinked and had his phone in his hand before he even thought about it.

"Sam?" Dean said softly. "Is it time for more pills?"

Sam glanced at his watch. "Yeah, let me get you a couple."

"Meant to say thanks, Sam," Dean mumbled a few minutes later. The pills were working fast.

"Thanks?"

"You saved my life."

"You taught me CPR and first aid, you saved yourself."

"Not what I meant." Dean tried to sit up and dropped back. "How many times do I have to tell you not to get the rooms with the spinning beds."

Complaint number eighteen. Things were getting better.

"It was the only room they had."

"Bet you took the non-spinning bed too, bitch."

"Mine spun for awhile."

"Right!" Dean focused on Sam. "That's what I'm talking about. You saved my life. Stopped that thing, jumped in front of it."

"I think you jumped first, Dean."

"Nuh uh, all I saw was fuzz and claws and you jumping in between."

"I wouldn't have had to jump if you hadn't shoved me out of the way," Sam huffed.

Dean grabbed for his hand. "Saved me." His words were heavily slurred not, the high power opiates doing their job very well, leaving Dean open and vulnerable.

"Saved me first," Sam said, laying his hand on Dean's.

"You are such a..." His brother trailed off.

"Dean?" Sam asked, concerned for a moment, until he heard Dean's deep even breathing.

Two days later, Dean asked Sam to cut back on the pain medication. Starting Winchester fight number nine. The "someone thought they knew better than the doctor" fight. It was usually Dean, sometimes Sam and once or twice John. It always happened and Sam and been ready for it this time. Making sure the meds he had were strong enough so that even though Dean was "cutting back" he was still getting enough to be comfortable and not Dean Winchester comfortable. Actually comfortable. They were deep into the fourth round of the fight when a tap on the door interrupted them.

"Who's there?" Dean snapped, then groaned.

"FedEx."

"Go away."

"I have a delivery for Sam Marx."

Sam got up and opened the door, quickly signing for the envelope. "Thanks."

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"The envelope?"

"There is no envelope."

"No, Sammy, there is no spoon, there is definitely an envelope."

"I ordered something online."

"What?"

"None of your business."

"Come on." Dean made a playful grab for the envelope and his face suddenly reflecting pain, turning gray before he collapsed back on the bed.

"Dean!" Sam was there in a second, meds in one hand and water in the other. "Open your mouth" He dropped the pills in and chased them with water, then carefully eased Dean back onto the pillows. Without waiting, he got up and microwaved a towel, when it was warm he set it on Dean's chest, holding it in place with his hand. "Sorry."

"Not your fault, Sam," Dean said, laying his hand over his brother's. "I guess I am not as good as I thought."

"You haven't been out of the hospital long, give it a day or two, Dean. It will be okay."

"Yeah, whatever."

Depression number three, hurt and not healing fast enough.

Sam sighed. He should write a book.

"Want to go for a ride?" Sam asked, trying his best to sound innocent six days later.

"Where?" Dean said listlessly. The depression had been getting steadily worse over the last few days.

"Out, sun's shining. Maybe get something to eat."

"Sure, why not." Dean sat up carefully and swung his legs over the side of the bed, accepting Sam's help to stand and then leaning against him as they went out to the car. "Where're we going?" Dean asked several minutes later as the edge of the city gave way to the port area.

"Nowhere." Sam was trying for casual. Dean wasn't buying it, he could tell from the sideways glances Dean kept tossing him.

How he had managed to keep it a secret was a miracle. Sam was pleased that Dean still hadn't found out. He was even happier when he he realized there was a baseball game that night and the heavy traffic was headed that way. Dean would never suspect. Sam tried to hide a grin.

"Baseball, Sammy?" Dean said as they got closer. "Okay. I didn't think you liked it."

"I like minor league ball, you know that."

"This is not minor." Dean was looking up at the massive parking garage Sam was pulling in.

"Nope."

Sam found a space right beside handicapped parking. Luck was really on his side today and that was making him a little nervous. He hopped out of the car and headed over to the wheelchair rental. He knew Dean would protest, but he had done a little research and discovered wheelchairs got special treatment.

"No, no wheelchair."

"Yes, Dean, you'll never make the walk. Do you want a pill before we go down? I probably should leave the bottle in the car."

"Okay, fine, whatever." Dean took the pill and got into the chair with a petulant look.

Sam pushed him over to the elevator and hit the button for street level. Dean still hadn't clued in and Sam stopped by one of the street venders to get Dean a hotdog. After staring at the menu, Dean opted for something called odd dog out. He took a bite and his face brightened. "Good stuff, Sammy."

"What is on that thing?"

"Mustard, raw cabbage, onions and potato chips."

"Potato chips?"

"Yeah, crushed right on top!" Dean grinned. "Food at its best."

"That is not food."

Winchester nutrition discussion forty-seven. Things were getter better.

Dean was so involved in his happy enjoyment of the hotdog that he didn't notice where Sam was taking him and they were in the handicapped door before Dean was aware of what was going on. Sam held out the tickets to get scanned and that's when Dean looked up.

"This isn't the game."

"You think?" Sam asked, as he watched a couple go but with enough piercings between them to build a car.

"Where are we?"

"Here are your lanyards, sir," a woman said, handing them to Sam. He put his over his head and handed the other to Dean.

His brother took it and looked down, staring at it. He swallowed, blinked and swallowed again. "Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I hallucinating again? Like the other night when I saw pixies?"

"No."

"So this is really..."

"Yeah, I saw the ad, and then found these on eBay."

"Sammy, do you know what these are?"

"I think so," Sam said, pushing Dean into the theater area. He heard a soft intake of breath from his brother. "Dean?"

His brother cleared his throat. "But these are... It says VIP."

"It does," Sam agreed, pushing Dean to the spot close to the stage. "It's why we are here early."

"Why we are..."

"Yeah." Sam grinned.

The curtain at the edge of the stage was shoved aside and the other guest with VIP Passes held their breath along with Dean. A man walked towards them

"Thank you for coming," he said in a soft British accent. "I hope you enjoy the show." He handed each of them a bag containing gifts. Sam peeked in his and saw a key chain, a tour book and a couple of publicity stills. Sam pulled his out and set Dean's on his lap. A moment later another man walked out.

"Oh, god," Dean whispered.

"That's what it means," the man answered with a laugh. "Thanks for coming, it's going to be a fucking awesome show." He signed Sam's photo then stopped in front of Dean, looking at the still ugly wounds visible on Dean's neck and arms. "Seriously, thank you for coming." He pulled off a bracelet made up of skulls and handed it to Dean. "Have a fucking awesome time."

"Thanks..." Dean stammered.

Sam dropped his hand on Dean's shoulder. "You okay?"

Dean looked up. "Sam... I..." He slid the bracelet on his wrist. "I... this is..."

"Dio's bracelet."

"Thank you, Sam for this... I..."

"You do deserve it, for every movie we sneaked into, for every game we saw, for enduring that evening of Mozart and..." Sam shrugged. "You're my brother."

"Oh god, are we going to have to hug now?" Dean asked, shifting in the wheelchair to lean against Sam.

"I'll let you slide on the hug this time if I can wear ear plugs."

"Wimp."

"When it comes to my hearing, yes," he said, leaning against Dean. His brother was smiling, the one that light up his face and sparkled in his eyes. The one that was reserved for extra special occasion. Sam smiled back and slid the ear plugs into place, ignoring Dean's snigger.

When the music began Dean's smile got even larger. Sam peeked over during "Rainbow in the Dark" and noticed Dean's eyes looked suspiciously bright. "Shut up," Dean said, when he caught Sam's look.

The shut up number five, "I know you saw that, you know I know, let it go." Just about as normal as they could get

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Things were finally all the way better.

_Ride out stand and shout  
__carry on sail on sing your song  
__carry on  
__'cause we rock_

_**The End**_


End file.
